Read Online PsyCop 4: Secrets by Jordan Castillo Price - Free Book Online

the teeny-tiny upstairs half-bath. Light filtered in through glass-block windows and Jacob had left for work hours ago. The cannery was pretty peaceful, in its own industrial way. Even if it wasn’t painted white.
    I went downstairs and squeezed past some boxes. My hip brushed a box marked TV . That would be mine. Jacob’s TV couldn’t be contained by a regular cardboard box. My 13” set would fit in the bedroom. I was pretty sure there was some porn in that box, too. I decided to set up the DVD player so we could turn in early. There. I felt a sense of accomplishment from the mere planning of it.
    In the kitchen, I found the to-do list I’d asked for lying on top of the closed laptop. Damn.
    Jacob had actually written one down. Well, I had asked for it. I figured I should see what he thought I was capable of handling.
    Hang up clothes, find the bedside lamps, more snow shoveling and a stop at the grocery store. Okay. It was doable. In fact, I should be able to have it completed by noon. Filled with a new determination to make the cannery more of a home, I was a list-crossing fiend.
    Not only did I hang up our clothes, but I put each of our wardrobes on opposite sides of the closet so they weren’t all mixed up. I found Jacob’s shoe boxes and stacked them under his suits. I even put the winter stuff towards the front.
    I shoveled the walk before I went grocery shopping. How’s that for organization? I did have to go back out and hit a hardware store to buy a power strip and plug in the bedside lamps and the little TV, but I’d finished up the list by early afternoon. With just a little bit of guidance, I was capable of impressive feats.
    The newly hooked-up television set and its stack of well-watched DVDs beckoned to me, but I decided to wait until Jacob was home to break out the porn. Call me a romantic. As far as I knew, we had no cable service and no antenna, so unless I wanted to zone out to a snow channel or dig up a movie where everyone kept his clothes on, I’d gone as far as I could with the TV.
    As I went toward the stairs I caught a glimpse of Jacob’s computer, stately and impressive with its big, flat monitor and wireless keyboard. Although I knew it connected to the same Internet as my crappy laptop, it seemed that maybe with this impressive machine, I could actually find Stefan.
    Hadn’t Jacob said there were more pieces of equipment to be hooked in to this electronic work of art? A dozen boxes labeled “office” were stacked beneath the window. This would be Jacob’s stuff, since I’d never had an office, myself.
    I spread out the boxes and started peeling off tape. I found a printer. A scanner. Those wire baskets where you leave your paperwork to die, and a phone that looked way too complicated for its own good. I even found a box marked “Misc.” I know it doesn’t seem like it should be a personal triumph to discover that Jacob had stuff he couldn’t quantify—but living with him and his steel-trap mind, I couldn’t help but feel just a little bit satisfied.
    So what was it that stumped super-PsyCop Jacob Marks? A small fan. A few black and white photos of boring cityscapes in black lacquer frames. A bundle of hangers. A video camera, still in its box.
    We could tape ourselves having sex.
    Wait, no. I only wanted to see that video if Jacob took up the whole frame. Or maybe if it was really dark, and the only thing I could make out clearly was the talking, all that nasty, dirty stuff he liked to say to me.
    I opened the box and pulled out the camcorder. It was small enough to fit in the palm of my hand. I flipped open the viewscreen. The controls looked pretty straightforward: play, record, forward and back. I was just about to hit record when I realized that I’d probably better make sure that I wasn’t taping over somebody’s wedding. I hit play, and a strange room filled the screen, a room full of windows and light—Jacob’s old condo, which neither of us could think of anymore